Collection of Regular Moments for Irregular Folks Thanksgiving Special
by WoodWatch
Summary: It's that time of year once again. As the last leaves of autumn fall, and families gather together to give thanks for all their blessings, there are those who plot the downfall of Thanksgiving. Fed up with his friends and charmed by a sympathetic turkey, Rigby finds himself stuck in a humiliating outfit in a shady underground resistance. Mild violence, Mild Language, 3 Chapters.


"Hey Mr. Turkey! Hey. Hey. Mr. Turkey, hey" The boy poked at Rigby's face, "Hey are you listening? Hey. Hey what's a turkey say? Hey-hey-hey-hey-"  
"It's turkey time. Gobble Gobble." Rigby muttered.  
"Woohoo! He talks, mom! Didja see? Didja see that talking turkey?" The kid ran to his mother, pulling on her jacket as they trailed off into the crowd, "Hey mom! Hey didja see the talking turkey?"  
"Next."  
Rigby leaned his head on his feathered arm and stared up in disgust. He'd sat there all morning in the hot sun on that hard wood bench while sticky-handed kids pestered him about their favorite pies and the meaning of Thanksgiving. Honestly, he wasn't paying attention anymore - he spent the last hour trying to decide whether the little brats were getting smellier or if the pumpkins in that gaudy thanksgiving display were finally starting to rot. And if that wasn't bad enough, every few minutes he'd claw at his back where the long paper tail feathers poked into him.  
"Hi Mr. Turkey!" A girl screamed in his face and he almost jumped from his seat.  
"Susan! Mom said I could say hi first!" Another girl kicked the first.  
Oh God, He thought, not twins. Anything but twins.  
"Nuh uh Samantha! Mom said I go first cause I'm the oldest!"  
"Well I'm the smartest so I get to go first!"  
"You're only smart on opposite day."  
"That isn't even a real day, Susan, you're just a big fat liar."  
"Am not! I'm talking to Mr. Turkey!" Samantha grabbed Rigby's arm.  
"No I am!" Susan pulled the other.  
"I will scratch out your eyes," Rigby growled under his breath, "I am a wild animal and I will scratch out your eyes."  
"What did you say, Mr. Turkey?" Samantha squealed and pulled him towards her, "Stupid Susan was yelling."  
"You're the stupid one Samantha," Susan pulled Rigby back to her, "She can't even tie her shoes."  
"I can too tie my shoes you buttface!"  
"Shut up Samantha! I wanna hear Mr. Turkey talk!"  
"It's turkey time. Gobble gobble ." Rigby muttered again, adding a much quieter "I hate you so much" on the end.  
"Okay girls, I think Mr. Turkey has a lot more kids to see today," said a voice from behind him and Rigby jerked his head back to see their mom standing over his shoulder. Had she been there the whole time? Did she hear him? He sank into his makeshift costume of paper mache and turkey feathers and flashed a guilty grin up at her. Grabbing her kids off the bench, she scowled then stormed off towards the exist. Yep. Oh well, maybe unemployment wouldn't be so bad.  
He frowned at the sight of the line. It stretched into the horizon; crying children and parents with blank stares as far as the eye could see. This was the third year the Park had hosted its Thanksgiving Extravaganza, and the crowds got bigger each year. The goal was ten thousand - that's what Mr. Mallaerd said, but that moon-faced bastard never had to deal with a legion of screaming kids. Rigby wanted to ignore them, let them stand in that line all day, but the faster he moved them through, the sooner it would end.  
"Next." He called, but his frown turned deeper when Mordecai and Benson walked out from the crowd. Great, here they come to gloat.  
"Ugh. Next!" He yelled.  
"Hey hey, how's it going , Mr. Turkey?" Benson said. He wore an outfit of leather straps over burgundy burlap; the large square buckle over his waist matched the one on his black hat.  
"I'm fine," Rigby crossed his arms, "Leave me alone."  
"I dunno Benson, he's looking pretty fowl to me." Mordecai grinned  
"He must be roasting in this heat." Benson put his hand on Rigby's forehead, then turned to the bird, "What do you think, Mordecai? Another few hours and he'll be done?"  
"Just don't forget to baste him."  
"Ha Ha Ha." Rigby pouted, "Why do I have to be stupid the turkey every year? Why can't Mordecai do it?"  
"Why would I be the turkey?"  
"Oh like you don't know!"  
"Don't be racist, dude" Mordecai placed a hand on Rigby's shoulder, "It's the twenty-first century, and if a raccoon wants to be Mr. Turkey, well I for one support that."  
"But I don't want to be-"  
"-Besides," Mordecai pointed to his belt-buckle hat, "I'm a pilgrim. And being a pilgrim has its own challenges.  
"Oh please, like what?"  
"Well, ya know, pilgrim stuff."  
"Pilgrim stuff? You've just been talking to chicks all morning!"  
Mordecai shrugged, "Chicks dig pilgrims, dude."  
"Look Rigby," Benson said, "You're the only one that fits the costume. That is literally half the reason I don't fired you."  
"Hmpf. I think this costume is stupid."  
"Yeah well you better keep that to yourself," Mordecai said, "If Pops heard you hated his costume, he'd start all crying and junk."  
"And that's the last thing we need." Benson glared at the raccoon.  
"YOU'RE NOT MR. TURKEY! YOU'RE JUST A STUPID GOAT! IT'S MY TURN TO SEE MR. TURKEY! I WANT TO SEE HIM NOW!" screeched a little girl as she stomped on Thomas's foot. He hadn't fared much better that morning managing the queue, and for as lame as the goat was, Rigby did appreciate the occasional tired nod that acknowledged their mutual suffering.  
"Looks like you have another customer," Benson grinned, "Careful, she looks like a biter."  
Rigby's frowned up to Mordecai with the biggest, saddest eyes he could muster, "Please. No more."  
"Sorry dude." Mordecai shook his head, "Just let it happen, it's easier that way."  
And so his torture started again as brat after brat filed through. They poked him and pulled his ears and sneezed in his face - one boy even puched Rigby when he tried to get the boy to move along and stop holding up the line. The parents were worse though - each one acted like their little shit was just the cutest thing in the world as they tortured him. By 3:00, his face had taken on a thousand yard stare and he'd been reduced to mumbling. This was it, this was Hell; he was finally being punished for all his lies and all his mischief and all those times he touched hims-"  
Whoosh! Icy cold shot down his spine and Rigby became airborne. Ricocheting off the tip of the giant cornucopia statue, he face-planted into the dirt, then rolled over and laid on the ground, mouth agape and eyes staring into the sky like a wounded soldier in a pool of icy water.  
"But why?" He whined.  
"Ha! Nice costume loser," Muscle Man laughed, "What are you, some kind of retarded bear thing?"  
"You know what I am. And what the H dude? What did I do to you?"  
"Benson said dump out the coolers. So we dumped out the coolers."  
"On me! You dumped out the coolers on me!"  
"You were just sitting there gobbling to yourself -"  
"-We were getting worried." High Five Ghost added.  
"Everyone left hours ago." Muscle Man threw his thumb over his shoulder to the empty park, "Benson said you gotta clean up. He said you have to wear that, too."  
"Oh come on! Why?!"  
"He said it's the only thing he looks forward to every year."  
"Benson can shove a quarter in his slot! I need to get this thing off me!" Rigby tried to roll onto his feet, but the bulky costume resisted. He tried again, squealing and grunting as he flapped his fake wings in the dirt like a turle stuck on its back. Eventually he flipped onto his stomach and scooted with his face along the ground, but before he could find anymore leverage, he bumped into the base of the cornucopia and wedged his nose firmly underneath. His legs flailed, then hung limp in the air behind him.  
"Pleash holp me"  
"I don't know, Fives... That sounded like insubordination," Muscle Man said, "Maybe we should go get Benson..."  
"No! Don't go-geth Benshon! I didn't mean it!"  
"Sorry bro, Benson said we had to report any-"  
"-Pleash! I'll dthoo anythin!"  
"Say it."  
"Say whot?"  
"You know what, Mr. Turkey."  
"No! I wan't shay ut!" Rigby's legs whipped around in the air once more as he tried to push himself free on his own power. He rocked back and forth, trying to prop his feet against the ground, against the holiday display, against anything that all - nothing worked. With his one unstuck arm he tried to dig himself free but only managed to become lodged farther underneath. Soon he fell still again.  
"It's torkey time...," He said, "gubble gubble gubble."  
"This is the saddest thing I've ever seen," High Five Ghost frowned, grabbing Rigby's leg.  
Muscle Man grabbed the other and, with a popping sound, the raccoon launched backwards, spun around, and slammed right into Muscle Man's chest. Rough, wet green skin slid under his nose as he bounced off and landed on his feet. His knees almost buckled from disgust though; it took all he could muster to stay standing.  
"Aw sick dude" Rigby spit and wiped his tongue, "They let you walk around like that?"  
"Whatever bro, sweet ass Indians didn't wear lame ass shirts," Muscle Man shoved a broom in Rigby's chest, "Now get cleaning, loser. You know what happens to bad turkeys on Thanksgiving."  
They laughed and disappeared beyond the bushes. Rigby grumbled, sweeping up a pile of candy wrappers, but a gust of wind scattered them. Growling, he swept them up again, and again they blew away. Rigby shouted and tried once more, but when trash flew up in his face, he lost it.  
"GAH! I hate this job! I hate Benson! I HATE THANKSGIVING!"  
He spiked the broom into the ground and it ricochet back into his nose. Staggering, he shook his head, then regained his senses, "Oh come on!" He leaned back against the post of a large 'Entrance' sign and wiped his mouth. Blood.  
"Stupid effing broom," He wiped his mouth again. At least no one was around. It wasn't just that he hated kids or that never wanted to sit on a bench again. It was the disgusted stares of the customers looking down on him, whispering to their kids that this was why they should go to college. It was Benson's wide, gleeful grin when he shoved the raccoon into the turkey outfit. It was Mordecai's wisecracks and Muscle Man's bullying. It was -  
"Psst," a nearby bush rustled nearby.  
"Huh? What?" Rigby looked around.  
"Psst. They're gone. Hurry."  
Rigby's eyes widened, "H-Hello?"  
A small head on a long neck popped out of the bush. Red, sagging skin above his yellow, chipped beak jiggled when he spoke, "I'm here to rescue you, brother. Quickly, we must leave now."  
"Whoa, are you talking to me? I don't-"  
"Your tormentors are gone, brother! You do not need to act for them anymore, " The turkey climbed out of the bush and shook the leaves from his feathers.  
"Huh? I'm not acting," Rigby said, "And they're still my friends, they just-"  
"-Surely you know that you are of no worth to them? I saw how they treated you, I watched all day from this bush."  
"That's super creepy dude." Rigby backed away.  
"No matter what they have told you, know that they are the lies of liars."  
"Well... Benson did tell me I could be the King of Thanksgiving this year, but I don't think there really is a King of Thanksgiving..."  
"Exactly! They humiliate you now, and when their games are done, when they grow bored of you," The turkey drew his thumb across his neck like a knife, "Come with me and you will never be abused like this again. They are not your friends. I am a true friend. I am here to save you."  
Rigby kicked a ploom of dust in the dirt, "Yeah... Yeah. You know what? You're right! Eff those guys. They don't care about me, I'm just a big punching bag to them!"  
The turkey squinted through a scarred, ragged eyelid, " I know a better place. One where there are more like us; where this wretched day is hated."

* * *

"Totally! I'd love to! No, it's really no big deal. Seriously, I don't mind!" Mordecai propped his legs up on the coffee table and held the phone to his head, "Heh, well I mean, I think you're..." He gulped, "I think you're r-really g-great too."  
"Who's he talking to?" Muscle Man peaked over his cards  
"Don't know," Skips threw down a five of hearts, "He's gonna lose if he doesn't come back soon."  
"Probably some ugly chick," Mitch forked over two fives, then pulled out a jack of clubs, "You know he passed up my Starla for some gross girl at the coffee shop?"  
" 'Secret to life," Skips chuckled, "And go fish."  
"What do you mean?" Muscle Man grabbed a card from the deck  
"The secret to life. A wise being of infinite psychic energy once told me that if you can teach yourself to like ugly women, you'll never be unhappy."  
"Pfft, maybe for losers," Muscle Man crossed his arms, "Only the foxiest of the foxy mamas for this guy. Oh, uh, got any nines?"  
"Go fish."  
"Uh huh," Mordecai walked back into the kitchen with the phone still glued to his head, "Don't worry, I'll bring a helmet. Yep, and a bat. No, It's really no big deal. I will, and uh, I uh, I'll call you as soon as I'm out, okay? Heh, t-thanks. You too. Later." The blue jay hung up the phone and a wide grin shot across his face.  
"Who was that?" Skips asked.  
"Margaret. Her aunt's in the hospital!" Mordecai said gleefully.  
"That's... terrible... Is she okay?"  
"Huh? Oh don't worry about her aunt, she just broke her pelvis or something," Mordecai waved a dismissive wing then flopped into the chair and leaned over the table, "What really matters is that Margaret wants me to do her Christmas shopping!"  
"Christmas shopping?" Skips cocked his eyebrow, "Isn't everyone doing that through catalogs these days?"  
"Catalogs? No dude, everyone does it online, but Margaret really wants to save some money this year. It's the only way she can afford to buy for everyone," Mordecai pointed his thumbs back at himself, "So guess who's going Black Friday shopping at Townmart?"  
"Oh no bro..."  
SKips put down his cards, "You know you can't go."  
"What?" Mordecai chuckled and pushed his chair back on two feet, "Why not? It's just a bit of shopping."  
"My cousin went Black Friday shopping last year," Shaking his head, Muscle Man looked away, "By the time she'd made it to the check, she'd killed six people and her two friends were never heard from again. She got some pretty sweet deals though."  
"Pffft, whatever. That's all just a bunch of hype to sell more stuff."  
"I don't know," Skips said, "They just that 5k for the survivors of the Consumer Electronics aisle..."  
"I'll be fine," He let the chair fall back to four legs, "Plus, I'll have Rigby with me, so he can wade through the crowd while I spot the best deals."  
"That's not any better," Skips sighed and looked at his watch, "Now that you mention it, where is Rigby?"

Happy Thanksgiving Eve! I wanted this story to be finished by Thanksgiving and it just didn't happen, but I still wanted to have something to post. Hopefully I can get another chapter up by tomorrow or Friday and finish up this weekend.


End file.
